


Catch Me If You Can

by Joy_Pedler



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dystopia, Alternate Universe - Hackers, College, Computer Programming, Future Fic, M/M, Pirates, Technology, Teen Castiel, Teen Dean Winchester
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-07
Updated: 2014-10-07
Packaged: 2018-02-20 06:46:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 12,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2419007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Joy_Pedler/pseuds/Joy_Pedler
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The year is 2093. The world runs on a system of electronic points. The wealthy have too many, everyone else too few.<br/>That's where Dean Winchester, also known as SMITH the online hacker-extraordinaire, comes in. He takes points from the rich and gives them to the poor.<br/>But Heaven is a system that relies on security, and SMITH is an unwelcome thorn in their side. The problem is there is no one skilled enough to take on SMITH.<br/>Except maybe Castiel Novak.<br/>SMITH is just another job for Castiel.<br/>Until he's someone from Castiel's past, someone important.<br/>That's when the lines between Pirate and Programmer become blurred.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The line shuffles forward slowly, tired feet and empty stomachs pushing the tide forward, to the booth. The tall man pulls his coat tighter, his collar higher, and tries not to meet the eyes of anyone around. It won’t do well for anyone to recognize him, not here.

The front of the line draws nearer and he looks up, swallowing thickly at the promise of food.

Five people in front of him becomes three, then only two.

The old man in front of him reaches the booth and the tall man stands just a little bit straighter. The old man pulls his card from his pocket and holds it under the scanner, swallowing the sick taste of his tongue nervously. The scanner cycles for a moment, and then flashes red.

The old man makes a soft noise, one of disappointment and sadness, and looks to the man behind the glass of the booth. He doesn’t wear a sympathetic expression, his mouth set in a flat line.

“But-“ the man begins.

“-Next,” the attendant cuts him off, already looking to the tall man.

Sam frowns and glances at the old man, still standing in front of him, hungry and desperate and with too few food points.

“Come on man,” Sam says to the attendant as the old man is pushed out of the way by the press of the tide of people behind Sam. “He’s obviously hungry.”

The attendant just points to the board above him where the required food points are displayed.

“He doesn’t meet the minimum,” he says boredly. “Scan or move on.”

Sam looks to the old man, and the man simply nods at him in resigned sadness, and Sam twists his face in guilt and empathy. The man moves away as the line pushes Sam forward.

Sam watches the old man leave, his back stooped and shoulders low as he disappears into the crowd.

“Hurry up!” a shout comes from down the line, followed by grumbles and yells of agreement, and Sam turns back to the booth, where the attendant’s expression has turned from boredom to mild annoyance.

He grits his teeth together as he holds his badge out to the scanner. He doesn’t like this, not at all. Not even when the screen flashes green for him and the attendant pushes a box under the booth’s window to him.

Sam can’t help but feel guilty as he takes the box and walks away from the booth, glancing briefly down the long line, at all the hungry people, desperate for food, with no way to get it except here; at a tiny, under stocked booth where prices are getting higher and higher every day.

Most of those people won’t be able to afford the small box of rice, milk and bread they sell at this booth, and Sam knows this is the cheapest booth in Lawrence. Most of those people will go hungry tonight.

He pulls his coat tighter and his scarf over his chin.

He reaches his bike a moment later, and pulls the cover from the seat to reveal the storage compartment. Three boxes sit in it already, from three other booths. He stacks the fourth one on top and replaces the seat before anyone notices the number of boxes he has.

There’s a few reasons why he does this; for one thing it’s very illegal for someone to purchase more than one box a day, not to mention suspicious in a neighbourhood like Lawrence, where the average person is lucky to get one a week. There’s also the high chance that someone will attack him for his boxes if they see how many he has. The people here aren’t bad. Just desperate.

Sam doesn’t wait for either of these things to happen. He gets on the bike, kicks the side to start the engine, revs it once, twice, and pulls out onto the street, headed home.

* * *

Sam walks his bike from the street to the door. It’ll get stolen if he leaves it outside, and there’s no way to ride it down the narrow lanes between the doors of the slums. He carefully navigates the dirty brick lanes, dodging children who run between his legs, chasing a ball or a cat, until he makes it to their door.

Number 67. Sun-dried wood with the number painted in blue above the door. Sam pulls his key-card from his pocket and holds it out to the scanner. The door clicks open and Sam pushes his bike into the entrance room, shutting the door behind him.

“Bobby!” he calls out to the house. “You home?”

There’s the sound of papers shuffling, and soon Bobby emerges from the study, old wheelchair creaking on the floorboards. Sam smiles at his surrogate father.

“Hey, Bobby,” he greets the man, and sets his bike against the wall. Bobby wheels himself to the tall man as Sam starts to pull boxes from his bike, and takes them from him to set down on his lap.

“Any trouble?” Bobby asks. Sam shrugs off his jacket and hangs it from a hook by the door.

“They’ve raised prices,” he says, and Bobby twists his face.

“Again?” the older man says with distaste, and Sam nods.

“Is Jess home yet?” he asks. Bobby smiles slightly.

“Not yet, but she sent a message, be home in fifteen minutes,” he explains, and Sam nods as he pulls his scarf from around his neck. He pauses in his movements and looks to Bobby again.

“Dean?” he says simply, and Bobby looks to his lap. “Is he back?”

Bobby shakes his head, and Sam frowns.

“Any word from him?”

Bobby breathes deeply.

“Not from him, but I hear chatter about him online,” he says as Sam pulls his gloves off. “They’re saying he’s planning something.”

Sam hesitates as he puts his gloves in the pocket of his coat.

“Think I can leave him a message?” he asks. There’s a moment of silence between them as Bobby thinks.

“You think it’s safe?” he asks, and Sam bites the inside of his cheek.

“No,” he says softly, and kicks his boots off. “I guess not.”

Bobby frowns sadly, but doesn’t answer to that, though as Sam passes him by to go upstairs Bobby touches his arm slightly.

“Sam,” he says softly. “Dean’s smart, he knows what he’s doing. He can take care of himself.”

“I know,” Sam nods. “Doesn’t mean I don’t worry about him, what he’s doing.”

“He’s helping people Sam,” Bobby reasons. “We do what we can,” he gestures to the boxes on his lap. “But your brother does things that saves people.”

Sam nods.

“Thanks Bobby,” he says softly, and slips upstairs. Bobby wheels himself to the back door, where he sets down three of the four boxes by the door. The fourth he takes to the fridge. He pulls the milk, rice and bread from it, and slots them into place, alongside identical milk, rice and breads.

Upstairs Sam pushes open the doors as he passes them. Children cry out hellos as they see him, and he smiles at them, waving and closing the doors again. In his room Ben sits on the floor, computer parts strewn around him, screwdriver in hand.

“Hey Ben,” Sam leans into the room and the boy looks up. He smiles to see Sam. “Your mom around?” Sam asks. Ben shakes his head.

“She’s still at the hospital, said there’s been a lot more people coming in lately,” the boy explains. Sam nods and watches for a moment as Ben slots another piece into place.

“Hey,” he says, and Ben looks up. “Here.”

He pulls a worn circuit board from his pocket and throws it to the boy. Ben catches it with ease, turns it over in his hands and smiles.

“Thanks Sam,” he says, and Sam nods, closing the door behind him.

He makes it to his room after checking on all the kids in their rooms. Ben’s the oldest, at only fourteen, and he’s one of the only ones who has a parent. The youngest is six. There are twelve of them in total. Sam’s room is at the end of the hallway. Well, his and Jess’s room. She teaches at the local school five days a week, eight in the morning till four in the afternoon.

Sam pulls a ring of keys from his pocket. The doors in this place don’t run on electricity, they have old-fashioned locks. It’s only the adults’ rooms that lock, the kids’ rooms all stay open. Sam unlocks his door and closes it behind him.

The small room is stacked with books, all legal stuff. Dean always used to say that Sam was smart enough to go to the best college, become the best lawyer. It would’ve happened too, though Sam doesn’t like to dwell. He studies his books religiously, every day. If he can master the legal system, well maybe he can make some change.

The walls are covered in photographs, papers. Sam touches a photograph above his bed with two fingers, reverently trailing the fingers over the faces of the people.

His father, John, stands at the back of the photo, smiling proudly as he beams at the camera. Mary, his mother, stands beside him. His memory of her is fading, though the photo helps. She’s so beautiful, her smile so bright; Sam can’t help but smile slightly. Dean stands in front of his dad. Sam can hardly remember this version of his brother. So young, happy. He hasn’t seen Dean in a couple months, and before then it had been almost a year, though Sam has watched his brother change over the years, go from hopeful and passionate to cold and hard. He does a good job of masking his pain with sarcasm and humour, but Sam knows his brother. Finally there’s Sam, twelve years old. He was shorter than Dean back then, though he caught up around his eighteenth birthday. Sam hardly remembers being that young. All he can remember as far as his memory goes back is being like this, reading as much as he can, learning as much as he can and spending his days collecting what he can to get to the people who can’t afford it.

He moves away from the photo to set down his bag on the floor, and sits on the bed. The clock beside his bed ticks over to three o’clock. Jess will get home around four thirty. Sam doesn’t know when Dean will come back, or if he’ll ever come back.

The sky rumbles with the promise of rain, and Sam wonders where his brother is now.

* * *

 


	2. Chapter 2

SMITH is a name not many people know. It’s a name that not many people are meant to know. If anyone knows who SMITH is it’s for one of three reasons; the first is that he’s robbed them; the second is that he’s helped them; the third is that they know that SMITH is the alias of one Dean Winchester.

He’s a Pirate.

Dean takes great pleasure in calling himself that, though he knows he’s not selfish. Some people have called him a Robin Hood type, others call him a vigilante.

He likes Pirate the best.

The rain comes down outside his window, and Dean sits back from his computer screen.

This apartment isn’t his favourite. The walls and floors are solid cement, the windows all broken to let the cold in. There’s a mattress in the one corner that he’s covered with an old blanket. There’s a small bathroom off to one side. There’s no running water, but he can shit and piss into the hole that the toilet is. He carries around enough food supplies to last a month, and he gets more supplies whenever he moves. Every one of his apartments is fitted with his custom computers, his set up. He built each one to suit his needs. They run faster than anything on the market, and function better than anything else. Dean used to get in trouble for making stuff like this. One thing he can say about being an outlaw is that the freedom of living outside the law is nicer than anything he had before.

He stands up from his chair to stretch his back, and walks away from the screen. He moves to the balcony, and stands there, looking out to the city. This apartment is dirty, but not the dirtiest, and he’s lucky to have a safe place where he can work.

Just last week one of his places was compromised. A small bunker down in Omaha, a group of Heaven agents set off the alarm. Dean had to set off his emergency protocols, shut down the operating system there. He can’t let them access any of his things; it would put too many people in danger.

The computer lets out a ping, and Dean turns back to it. The screen flashes with lines of code, a singular line red amidst the black of the text. He moves to his pack and pulls his shirt on, then goes to sit back at the desk. His fingers fly across his keyboards, his eyes lighting up with intensity as he opens up the pages.

In seconds he’s made it into the system. It’s only a matter of transferring points now. The world runs on this system, points for food, resources, everything, and the one thing that Dean knows about this system is that it’s fucked.

It works fine for the people who live in LA, people who live in tall, glass buildings with clean white floors. Those people can afford it, but for the people who live in the slums, people like Dean’s family and friends, it’s near impossible to get by day to day.

So Dean does a little transferring of funds here and there.

And by a little he means a lot, and by here and there he means at least once a week he goes and takes points from his choice of Corporation, and sends them out to the people living in the slums.

It’s enough that they all know who he is. He’s on the run most of the time; trying to avoid agents of Heaven, stay hidden while he helps as many people as he can.

His eyes light up as the script turns green, and now he can only sit back and watch as the points are transferred to the families living in Neighborhood 12. All across the city people’s status screens will be lighting up, filling up their point quota. It’s a system that works well. Though he takes a large number of points he’s able to distribute them so they can’t be traced back to him, or any of the families. It means he’s able to impact upon a company that manipulates and plays upon the poor and simultaneously help families in need. He’s doing good, he knows that, but that’s not why he does it. No one really knows why he does it, they tend to assume it’s because he’s selfish, or has a death wish.

There’s a real reason why, though Dean can’t tell anyone that. He can’t tell anyone anything at all. Contact is dangerous. Hell, he hasn’t even seen Sammy in almost a month. It’s tough, not seeing his brother, or Bobby, but it’s the only way he can keep them safe. He knows he might be caught one day, he hopes he won’t, but knows it’s likely to happen, and he doesn’t want to take them down with him.

So he lives a solitary life, moving from safe house to safe house, pulling off heists like this as often as he can, and working towards his goal.

He pushes his chair away from the screen as it lights up, letting him know that it’s done, that the Roman Corporation is now down a half million points, and that 1000 families across Neighborhood 12 are now up 500 points each; enough to buy food for five months at least.

He looks out the window again, to the rain that comes pelting down, and lets out a soft sigh.

* * *

 


	3. Chapter 3

Castiel is woken by his alarm at the same time as every morning. 0700 hours sharp. The blinds of his apartment open automatically, letting in the sharp light of the morning as he opens his eyes. The clean white walls and floors reflect the light, catching on the glass fixtures and decorative pieces in his bedroom.

He pushes the sheets from his body and stands up. He moves to the window to look out at the city. He lives three floors from the top, and has a view of the city unlike anything else. The glass buildings of LA reflect the light beautifully as the sun rises, like a crystal chessboard.

‘ _Good morning Castiel_ ,’ the soft voice echoes from the ceiling.

“Good morning Joshua,” he answers his AI butler.

‘ _You have a visitor Castiel,_ ’ the AI says, and Castiel frowns.

“So early?” he asks as he puts on a white button up shirt. “Who is it?”

‘ _He says he’s a representative from Heaven sir,_ ’ the AI answers as Castiel puts on a pair of black pants.

“Did he say why he’s here?” Castiel moves to the bathroom. He cleans his face with cold water from the tap.

‘ _He says it’s important business,_ ’ Joshua explains. ‘ _Shall I show him in sir?_ ’

Castiel looks up to the mirror.

His dark hair is messed up from sleep, his blue eyes rimmed with red, dark circles underneath them, his skin almost sickly from lack of sun exposure. He spends too much time in front of a screen, too much time wearing his glasses. His back aches sometimes from sitting all day.

“Let him into my office please Joshua,” he instructs as he dries his face with a towel. “I’ll be there in a moment.”

Castiel goes to his cupboard to slip a pair of black shoes on, and pulls a tie on over his head. He tightens it around his throat, adjusting the knot. That done he goes to the cupboard and pulls out a navy blue suit jacket. He straightens out the sleeves and pulls it on, and once he’s smoothed out the front of it he does the buttons up.

He walks down the hallway, past the blank white walls, until he reaches the dark wood of the door to his office. He stops there, takes a breath, and then opens the door.

Standing by the window, hands in his pockets, is a man.

He’s tall, with dark hair cut short and subtly gelled away from his face. His eyes are piercing and pale blue, intensified by his dark eyebrows and strong, straight nose. He wears the uniform of Heaven; a stark white blazer with black pants. The emblem of Heaven, a winged eye, is stitched in white on his left breast pocket.

“Mr. Novak?” the man greets him, and Castiel nods. The man smiles and extends his hand to be shaken. “My name is Michael.”

“A pleasure,” Castiel says as he shakes the man’s hand. “Please, sit.”

Michael sits himself down across from Castiel, his posture too perfect, spine too straight, hands resting neatly on his knees.

“What can I do for you, Michael?” Castiel asks the man, and Michael smiles.

“Mr. Novak, we at Heaven understand that you are the most skilled online investigator in LA,” he begins, and Castiel smiles slightly.

“Well I don’t know if I’d go so far-“

“-This isn’t the time for modesty Mr. Novak,” Michael cuts him off, and when Castiel meets his eye again the man has forgone all warmth and pretense, his gaze set in determination and learned sterility. In this look Castiel sees just a glimmer of desperation and settles into a posture of seriousness. Michael fixes him with a piercing look. “We need to know: are you, or aren’t you the best? And if you aren’t then direct me to the person who can do this job for me.”

Castiel bristles slightly at that comment.

“No,” he answers. “I’m the best.”

He’s not arrogant. There’s no room for arrogance in his line of work. Castiel Novak is simply the best computer scientist and online security worker there is. He knows the way to navigate the web better than anyone else, can find anything, anyone. He’s the best, and those who doubt it are quickly disproven when Castiel is able to quickly find out things about them even they don’t remember. He never does anything with the information, just sends it to the person trying to slander him. They stop their outcry pretty quickly after that.

Michael smiles and nods.

“Good, because Heaven needs to best to solve a little… problem, we’ve been having,” he explains. “What do you know about the online pirate ‘SMITH?”

Castiel’s only outward reaction to the name is a slight clenching of his fingers, before he controls himself and stops himself from showing any emotion at the name.

Castiel’s the best computer scientist and online security worker, but SMITH is by far the best pirate. He/she/it surpasses the skill of all the ‘top’ computer scientists by bounds. Castiel’s the only one who comes close, and even then, well, SMITH has always had an edge over Castiel, the freedom from the law that Castiel doesn’t have.

“I know that in the last six months his attacks on major corporations have gone from once a month to once a week, and that the amount of points he has stolen from these corporations has increased by 50%,” Castiel lists off. These aren’t commonly known things, but those involved in online security know about them. Recently Castiel’s been approached by many corporations asking him to bolster their online security. He’s had to turn them all down, simply because he knows that a confrontation with a Pirate will not end well, and if he were to help a corporation it wouldn’t take SMITH much effort to find out it had been him who had helped them, and then…

Castiel’s seen colleagues ruined by SMITH, their points there one day and gone the next morning, their cards rendered useless for opening their doors, running their cars. Castiel likes his life. He likes his apartment, he likes his job. SMITH is a Pirate, a criminal, and Castiel finds he hates them for the skill they have, but he knows better than to engage with someone who has no moral structures keeping them in place.

“In the last six months SMITH has ruined at least fifteen of the most proficient companies in America, though Heaven is more concerned with the repercussion of where they distribute the points stolen,” Michael explains. “Heaven operates perfectly because the points system is perfect; we are able to manufacture goods and services with the points spent on these goods and services, which in turn allows us to provide jobs in which the goods and services are generated. It’s a good system,” Michael asserts. “It works, and so when these ‘vigilantes’ come along and think they can do what they want with the system, twist it for their own selfish means,” Michael seethes slightly, but catches himself and takes a breath.

He looks to Castiel.

“Without organisation and the symbiosis of the system there will be chaos. Heaven needs you to find SMITH so we can take them down and restore order,” he finishes.

Castiel frowns slightly.

“I don’t involve myself with Pirates, it’s too dangerous,” he begins. Michael simply smiles.

“Heaven will protect you,” he offers.

“Can you protect me online? The place you need me to help you?” Castiel counters, and the man narrows his eyes.

“Mr. Novak,” Michael stands. “Castiel, I really didn’t want to have to take this so far, but if you leave me with no choice…”

Michael trails off as he moves to Castiel’s side of the desk.

“Heaven has decided that helping us find SMITH is your civil duty, and that if you refuse we will have no other choice than to charge you with aiding and prolonging the actions of a criminal and therefore sentence you to life in prison,” Michael says it so straight, with no hint of mirth. It’s a fact, not a suggestion. Castiel doesn’t break the man’s stare.

“You can’t threaten me,” Castiel breathes. Michael watches him for a moment, then smiles slightly.

“How’s your sister, Castiel. Anna?” he asks casually, though Castiel’s spine stiffens when the man says her name. “She’s living out in Queens isn’t she?”

Castiel swallows thickly, but nods.

Michael smiles, though his eyes are deadly.

“It would be a shame if it were discovered that she has been committing tax fraud, hiding points in secret bank accounts,” Michael muses, moving to a shelf by the window to run his fingers along the wood.

“Anna would never-“

“-Though it wouldn’t take much to make it appear as though she has, now would it?” Michael asks, and turns back to Castiel with a small smile. “You may not have much regard for your own freedom Castiel, though I’m certain you care for your sister, wouldn’t want her to suffer for your selfishness.”

Castiel grinds his teeth, and looks away from the man, and Michael smiles, knowing he’s won.

“You will be paid for your services,” he says and moves away. “Heaven will reward you, be assured of that.”

Castiel doesn’t respond, and Michael places an electronic card on his desk.

“Contact me when you have information on SMITH’s identity and whereabouts,” he says and moves to the door. He stops there to look back at Castiel. “Castiel,” Castiel looks up at where Michael stands, and the man smiles at him. “I look forward to hearing from you.”

Michael closes the door behind him, leaving Castiel alone. Castiel takes a deep breath and leans back in his chair, looking to the ceiling.

‘ _Sir?_ ’ Joshua’s voice comes from the ceiling.

“Yes Joshua?” Castiel answers.

‘ _Would you like me to send someone with breakfast?_ ’ he asks. Castiel sighs and pulls his glasses from the desk drawer. A press of a button raises the computer screen from the desk.

“Just coffee please Joshua,” he answers as the browser opens. “It’s going to be a long day.”

* * *

_The light filters in from the early morning sunlight, golden and beautiful on the freckled boy’s skin, catching on the dark haired boy’s hair. The freckled boy stirs in his sleep, and opens his green eyes to the morning. The dark haired boy lies across from him, still sleeping gently._

_The freckled boy reaches out a hand to cup the dark haired boy’s cheek. The dark haired boy smiles into his touch, and opens his blue eyes._

_“Morning,” he murmurs, and the freckled boy smiles._

_“Morning,” he answers._

_It’s suddenly a different time, and the dark haired boy is laughing, head tipped back as he grins, hand across his stomach as he laughs. He pulls his glasses from his nose as he squints his eyes closed, laughter rendering him immobile._

_The freckled boy smiles as he watches the dark haired boy laugh, and when the dark haired boy stops his laughter to breathe for a moment the freckled boy reaches over to pull him into a kiss._

_The dark haired boy is shocked for a moment into stillness, but smiles into the kiss and moves his hands to the freckled boy’s neck, pulling him close._

_When they pull away the dark haired boy scoffs._

_“What was that for?” he asks, and the freckled boy smiles, then shrugs._

_“Why not?” he answers._

_The dark haired boy’s eyes are so blue, so, so blue, and the freckled boy is entranced by them, pulled into them. The blue is the last thing he’s conscious of, the blue of storms and lightning and seas that are tossed in rough winds._

* * *

Dean wakes up in a cold sweat, his chest heaving in the cold of his apartment. He presses a hand to his bare chest to try still himself, to calm himself.

He leans forward to put his head in his hands, trying to hold onto the wisps of the dream. All he can remember is the blue, the blue that is more than any other blue, a blue so familiar but so distant, a memory, a dream.

When his breathing calms he leans back and lies down again, looking to the ceiling.

Where has he seen that blue? Why does he know it?

The answer evades him, and Dean presses a hand to his head to block it out, preferring to ignore it. In the few hours of sleep he gets it’s rare for him to dream, and he needs as much sleep as he can get these days.

He closes his eyes and breathes deeply, allowing the tendrils of sleep to pull him in again.

* * *

 


	4. Chapter 4

Castiel groans and leans back from his screen, squinting as he pulls his glasses from his face and rubs his nose roughly. He looks at the clock on his shelf and grimaces to see the time. It’s been a week since Michael came to see him, a week of searching the open web for information on SMITH, looking for general information on them.

It turns out the open web has very little information on the Pirate, but Castiel is hesitant to enter the deep web. Once in there he’s certain that SMITH will know he’s being searched for, that SMITH will be able to find out who he is easily. If Castiel is to enter the deep web he knows he’ll have to work quickly, find SMITH before SMITH finds him.

‘ _Sir?_ ’ Joshua’s voice comes from the ceiling.

“Joshua?” he answers.

‘ _Your sister is on the line,_ ’ the AI offers. Castiel stiffens. ‘ _Shall I put her through?_ ’

Castiel hesitates for a moment.

“Yes, I’ll talk to her.”

The tone echoes three times as Castiel waits.

“Castiel?” his sister’s voice comes through, and Castiel smiles at the sound.

“Hi Anna,” he answers. “How are you?”

“I’m fine,” she replies. Castiel hears her hesitate.

“Anna?” he says. “Is something wrong?”

“No,” she answers. “Just…” she trails off.

“Anna?” he repeats.

“Castiel, is something going on?” she asks, and Castiel bristles.

“What do you mean?” he answers.

“I got a call from someone the other day, they were asking about my points, my job,” she explains. “I asked them who they were and they said they were from Heaven.”

Castiel swallows thickly.

“Anna what did you tell them?” he asks.

“Nothing, I’m not stupid Castiel,” she snaps. “Are you involved with Heaven?”

Castiel breathes.

“Castiel,” she intones warningly. “What are you doing?”

“I’m not doing anything I can’t handle Anna, it’s fine. Just, don’t answer any questions,” he says softly. Anna is silent for a while, just the noise of her breathing coming through.

“I never see you anymore Castiel,” she says sadly. “Are you eating enough? Getting enough sleep?” she asks.

“Yes Anna, I’m fine, Joshua keeps me healthy,” he answers with a slight smile. There’s silence on her end again.

“What about your love life?” she asks, and Castiel groans. “Hear me out!” she insists, and Castiel leans back in his chair. “You should go out, meet people.”

“Anna I’m not looking for that right now, I have my work,” he answers. He hears Anna laugh on the other end.

“Castiel your work won’t keep you happy, you need someone,” she answers. Castiel doesn’t respond to that. “Just, keep an open mind,” Anna says softly.

“I will,” Castiel answers. “Stay well Anna,” he says, ending the conversation.

“You too, love you Castiel,” she replies, and disconnects.

Castiel runs a hand through his hair, and swallows the dryness in his throat. His sister’s voice and the fact that they’ve contacted her already is enough to make him worried, and he sets his glasses back on his nose as he turns back to the screen.

If he has to risk the deep web to keep his sister safe, then so be it.

* * *

Dean knows immediately that someone’s looking for him. 

He has security measures in place for anything involving him. The open web doesn’t bother him, most people on the open web don’t know who he is, there’s never anyone checking up on him there.

The deep web, however, is a totally different thing. If someone can make it onto the deep web, and are looking for him, then there’s reason to be suspicious.

He’s busy packing his things, readying to move to his next safe house, when a sound resounds from the computer. He immediately drops the shirt he’s packing and moves to the screen, pushing the chair out of the way.

Across the screen is red text, reading ‘ **SEARCH ALERT** ’

With the tap of a few buttons Dean can see the search history, the I.P, everything about the search for him. It’s only one person, which is a relief, and they live in LA, which means they’re part of the elite class.

Dean’s intrigued, because their technique is perfect. They’re not like any others who’ve tried to find him, amateurs. This person knows that Dean isn’t to be messed with, and is trying their hardest to avoid being found, knowing that it’s impossible for them to be entirely invisible, not where Dean’s involved.

They’re the best he’s seen, ever, though not as good as him.

They’re good though, great even. Dean can’t help but be impressed by the technique of their searching for him, their technical brilliance. They’re looking for him in real time, and Dean decides to watch for a while, see them work, and he isn’t disappointed. They’re subtle, but effective as they work, careful, but not tentative.

Dean’s eyes narrow as he watches, because the person’s changed their searches slightly, gone from general to more narrow terms, it’s almost as if they know…

Dean’s back prickles uncomfortably at the realization; this person knows they’re being watched, maybe not by him specifically, but they are worried about being monitored.

Dean frowns and pulls the seat back towards him, and sits himself at the computer, his packing forgotten.

He needs to know who this person is, why they’re looking for him, any information he can find on them.

He already has their I.P, knows they live in upper LA. He knows they have skill with online security, knows they must have a high level of qualification. That narrows it down greatly, to only around fifty people. From those he can cut out at least half that he’s already dealt with, amateurs not like this person.

It takes him only ten minutes to go through the first twelve, see that none of them have ever entered the deep web.

It’s the thirteenth one.

Dean clicks through this one’s details, works out their address, the make of their computer, breaks through their security measures, and in minutes hacks into their security cameras.

There are five in their apartment.

The first is in their bedroom, white walls and floors, wall to floor windows that look out to the city below.

This is a wealthy person, someone who can afford to live in comfort and luxury. There’s a camera in their bathroom, kitchen and their entrance hall. The final camera is in a study, and this is where the man sits, by a screen, tapping away intensely.

He has messy black hair, glasses perched on his nose, and wears a rumpled button up shirt and well-tailored black pants. Dean watches him for a while, his tapping and scrolling through the pages of the deep web. From this angle he can see the top of his head and nose, not his face, though only a moment later the man leans back, tilting his head backwards, and his face is revealed to Dean.

Dean’s breath catches and his heart stops, his fingers clenching at that face, and he hits a button on his keyboard to freeze the footage. He swallows thickly and moves away from the screen, hand going to cover his mouth as he reels from shock.

Blue. That’s where he knows the blue, those eyes, that face; he knows that face.

Cas.

* * *

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Flashback time

Dean had never expected to make it into college, let alone on a scholarship. The fact that he’d gotten good enough at computer science to be taken into their accelerated course had made his mom so proud. He’d never seen her look so excited. Sammy had been happy for him. His dad hadn’t been home in months, off working a case, or something. The rule was that they weren’t to contact him while he was away, so Dean hadn’t even let him know. Dean had decided that he’d have to be happy for himself, it wouldn’t do him well to worry about what his Dad thought of him.

He grinned as the gates of the college approached, large and looming above him.

He was so focused on them that he didn’t see the person until he had crashed into them.

They let out a grunt and toppled to the floor, and Dean’s chest flared with panic and embarrassment.

“Oh god, I’m sorry,” he immediately said, moving to where the person had fallen. “I’m so sorry.”

He extended his hand to them, and they looked up to him as they took his hand.

Dean’s first thought was ‘blue’, because the boy’s eyes had been the bluest he’d ever seen. His hair was the black of raven’s feathers and his lips a soft pink, and for a moment Dean was caught, trapped by the beauty of the boy’s face.

The glasses perched on the boy’s nose were skew, his face set in an expression of surprise, his cheeks slightly red.

Before he could stop to think Dean reached over and straightened the boy’s glasses, fixing them gently over his ear before trailing them down his cheek accidentally.

The boy coughed slightly, and broke their trance, and Dean moved away embarrassedly, helping the boy to his feet.

“Sorry about that,” Dean mumbled, and the boy shrugged.

“Don’t worry, I wasn’t looking where I was going,” the boy answered, and smoothed down his shirt.

Dean smiled to himself as the boy tried to fix his messy hair and failed miserably.

“I’m Dean,” he offered the boy his hand, and smiled when he took it.

“Castiel,” the boy, Castiel answered.

“What’re you studying?” Dean asked as Castiel adjusted the strap of his bag.

“Computer science,” Castiel answered. Dean’s smile lit up.

“Me too! You in class HL1600?” he asked, and Castiel nodded. “Man, I thought I wasn’t gonna know anyone, this is great!” he exclaimed, and Castiel smiled slightly.

“Crashing into a stranger who happens to be in your class is great?” he asked, and Dean smiled.

“Well at least I know someone now,” Dean answered.

* * *

Dean left the classroom bristling with anger and frustration, stuffing the test paper into his bag.

“Dean,” Castiel called for him, and Dean turned around, softening slightly at the sight of his friend.

“Hey, Cas,” he greeted, trying to put on a happy face, for Cas’s sake.

“Are you all right?” Cas asked as they walked from the classroom. “You’re angry, aren’t you?”

Dean shrugged.

“That teacher doesn’t know anything, he doesn’t like my methods. I get it done, but not how he wants. I do it better,” Dean explained, bristling with frustration. Castiel shifted uncomfortably.

“I take it you didn’t do well in the exam,” he said stiffly. Dean grunted.

“If you ask me to do something I do it my way. The way they teach us is stupid, it’s old fashioned,” he continued. Castiel looked away, embarrassed and slightly ashamed at Dean’s words.

Dean noticed this of course.

“Look, I’m sorry Cas, here I am moaning about it. How did you go?” he asked, looking to his friend.

Castiel didn’t answer.

“Cas?” he repeated.

“I got full marks Dean,” Castiel finally answered, stopping their walking. The dark haired boy looked so put out, so embarrassed, Dean couldn’t help but burst into laughter.

“Well god Cas don’t look so upset about it!” he exclaimed, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and pulling Cas along. “Why didn’t you say anything yet?”

“Aren’t you upset?” Castiel asked in confusion. Dean chuckled.

“Cas I’m glad, you’re so smart, you deserve it,” he explained. Castiel shook his head.

“You’re better than me Dean, you shouldn’t be failing the class,” Castiel reasoned. “I wish I was as good as you.”

Dean looked away.

“Ah shit Cas, you’re gonna make me blush,” he said softly, and pulled his friend tighter to his side.

Castiel ducked out of Dean’s grip and stood still, forcing him to stand still.

“Dean, why don’t we work together?” he offered, eyes lit up with the idea. “You teach me how to do things as brilliantly as you do, and I’ll teach you how to pass the class.”

Dean paused, but smiled at his friend.

“You’re too smart for your own good Cas,” he said affectionately, before grabbing Castiel’s hand and pulling him into a run, laughing.

* * *

The music thumped from the party, loud and obnoxious. Dean tipped back the cup in his hand, draining the sharp drink.

Finals had been tough, but Cas had helped him get through the structure of the college exam. He’d passed, barely, though Cas had done amazingly. He’d never doubted his friend, and studying with him had been fun.

Fun. Not the right word. Studying with Cas, it was great. He loved spending time with him, being near him. Everything about Cas was amazing to him. He was smart, funny, he loved spending time with him.

Dean put his drink down on a nearby table, his thoughts making him unsettled.

He looked up at the door, just in time to see Cas arrive.

The dark haired boy’s hair was ruffled the same way it always was, flying every which way, his eyes wide behind his heavy framed glasses. He wore a tan cardigan over a navy blue button up shirt with black skinny jeans. He spotted Dean and his eyes lit up, and Dean’s stomach flipped when Cas smiled and raised a hand to him in greeting, before dodging the crowd to move towards him.

“Hey, Cas,” Dean greeted his friend as the dark haired boy came to stand by him.

“Dean,” the boy answered and smiled.

Dean reached for the drink he had set down and took a gulp back of it. Cas looked around awkwardly, so Dean offered him the cup. Cas looked startled for a moment, but took the cup, and after an experimental sniff took a small sip.

“What is this?” he asked as he grimaced.

“Who cares?” Dean grinned and took the cup back. “Finals are over, we’re free!”

Castiel smiled at that.

The song changed, and Dean found his smile getting wider.

“Wanna dance Cas?” he asked, and the dark haired boy’s expression turned to one of mild panic.

“Oh, no. No, I don’t-“

“Come on Cas, one dance?” he asked, pouting slightly. Castiel hesitated a moment longer, but let Dean take his hand and lead him out onto the dance floor.

Dean laughed at Cas’s face, and started to move to the beat. Castiel stood still for a moment longer, but started to move slightly. Dean nodded as he laughed, and danced to the beat, head tipped back.

They danced a while longer, until the heat began to get to them, and Dean gestured for Cas to follow him outside. The two of them navigated the crowd, until they made it to the backdoor, leaving the heat of the room for the cool of the night air.

They fell down on the grass outside, both out of breath from the dancing, laughing and breathing heavily.

Dean looked to Castiel, who fell back to lie down on the grass, his chest rising and falling rapidly. Dean fell down beside Cas, propped up on his elbow to look down at his friend.

The light from the moon fell on Cas, lighting up his face and eyes as he looked to the stars. Dean watched Cas for a moment, his blue eyes entrancing him, the same way they had the first time he saw him.

Before nerves could stop him Dean reached for Cas’s face, letting his hand rest on his cheek. Cas looked to Dean, cheeks flushed and lips pink and moist from the drink. His blue eyes were confused for a moment as Dean’s thumb traced his cheekbone, though the confusion faded when Dean leaned towards him, slowly, and gently touched his lips to Castiel’s.

He pulled away, their noses brushing and eyes meeting.

Castiel moved his hand to Dean’s neck to pull him into a kiss again.

When they broke apart again Cas let out a soft laugh.

Dean smiled.

“What?” he asked softly.

Castiel shook his head.

“Nothing, just took you long enough.”

* * *

Castiel stretched his back out and pushed his glasses from his face, before he raised his arms above his head to release the tension in his back. Warm hands found his shoulders and massaged gently, and Cas smiled into the touch. He hummed as Dean’s hands travelled down his back, to the knots in his lower back.

“Thanks,” he murmured as Dean pressed a soft kiss to the back of his neck.

Dean smiled and wrapped his arms around Castiel’s shoulders.

“What’re you doing?” he asked, looking to the screen.

Cas twisted his mouth.

“I’m _trying_ to code for the dissolution equation,” he explained, tapping at the keyboard. “But I’m stuck.”

Dean leaned over his boyfriend to look through his work.

“You’re thinking too rigidly Cas, you’ve gotta be,” the screen opened up with the results Cas had been looking for. “Creative,” he finished his sentence.

Castiel reached for the keyboard to check through Dean’s results, and smiled slightly as he shook his head.

“You used a shortcut,” he said. Dean shrugged.

“So?” he answered as he moved away from the screen. Castiel swiveled in his chair to face his boyfriend.

“You cheated,” he explained. Dean turned back to where Castiel sat and smirked, planting a hand on his hip.

“Pirate,” he gestured to himself. Cas’s smile dropped.

“You shouldn’t say that, it’s not something to be proud of,” he said harshly, though Dean just smiled and made his way over to where Castiel sat. He grabbed the arms of Castiel’s chair to stop him from moving and leaned in, close to his face.

“You don’t think it makes me seem dangerous?” he asked, moving to straddle Castiel. “Sexy even?”

Castiel didn’t react, purposely looking away from Dean. Dean reached out two fingers to Castiel’s chin, and pulled his gaze up, forcing him to meet his eyes. Castiel looked wide-eyed up to Dean, who smiled devilishly as he pulled his boyfriend in for a kiss.

Castiel leaned into the kiss, their lips moving softly together as Dean’s hands laid on Castiel’s shoulders. He pulled away as Castiel leaned forward, and grinned as Castiel fell short.

“Yeah?” he asked, smirking at the blue-eyed boy before him. “Sexy?" 

Castiel blushed, but nodded.

“Yeah,” he conceded, and Dean responded by leaning in again for another kiss. Through the kiss he pulled Cas’s glasses from his face, and the two of them fumbled to take their shirts off, bumping elbows as they did. Dean lifted Castiel from his chair and pushed him onto the table. Castiel turned his head from the kiss.

“Not on the desk,” he insisted, though Dean planted his boyfriend’s wrists on the desk.

“On the desk,” he growled, and Castiel grinned up at him.

* * *

Dean’s fingers traced lines on Castiel’s chest, finding the groove of his collarbone and letting his fingernails graze the skin there.

Castiel breathed at the touch, and opened his eyes.

Dean smiled at his boyfriend.

“Hi,” he whispered softly, and Castiel smiled sleepily back at him.

“Hi,” he murmured, and took Dean’s hand.

Dean leaned in to press a kiss to Castiel’s shoulder, and moved closer to him, their heads side by side on the pillow. They watched each other, hands moving in repetitive patterns on the other’s skin, caressing and exploring intimately the expanse of being beside them.

“I love you,” Dean breathed, and for a second their movements faltered, both caught off guard by the soft declaration.

“I love you too,” Castiel answered, fingers soft as they moved to trail along the side of Dean’s face, before he moved closer still, to tuck himself flush against Dean’s body, face against his chest. Dean wrapped his arms around Castiel, pulling him closer, and buried his face in Castiel’s hair.

“I love you,” he repeated softly, and sleep overcame him at last.

* * *

It was a Sunday night, and Castiel sat alone on his couch. Checking his watch he saw that Dean was meant to have arrived twenty minutes earlier, and yet his boyfriend hadn’t appeared yet.

Cas pulled out his mobile phone, looking to see if maybe Dean had called or messaged him to let him know that he’d be late.

Frustrated, Castiel dialed Dean’s number.

The tone rang once, twice, three times. After the tenth ring the line clicked, and Castiel sagged with relief.

“Dean,” he began.

“Hi, this is Dean. I can’t take your call right now but leave a message and I’ll call you back,” the answering machine rattled off, and Castiel huffed in annoyance.

“Dean I don’t know where you are, but I’d appreciate it if you called me, let me know why you just skipped out on movie night,” he said gruffly. “Just call me, let me know if you’re okay.”

* * *

Across town Dean Winchester’s life was falling apart.

“Sammy!” he yelled out for his brother, pushing through the smoke of their burning house. “Sam!” he was desperate, his brother trapped in the house.

“Dean?” he heard the weak cry coming from the kitchen, and dashed that way, pulling the wet cloth over his nose and mouth tighter.

“Hold on Sammy!” he called out for his brother as he entered the kitchen. Looking around he couldn’t see his brother, the haze of the smoke obscuring his vision anyway, until a cough from under the dining table resounded hollowly.

Dean pulled the tablecloth from the table to reveal his coughing fourteen-year-old brother hiding there. He looked up to Dean with wide, scared eyes, and Dean extended his hand for his brother to take.

“Come on Sam we’ve got to get out of here!” he insisted, pulling his brother to his feet. He pressed the cloth he’d held over his face to Sammy’s, and his brother took it and held it there tightly.

They navigated the burning building, Dean’s hand firmly grasping Sam’s arm, until they emerged into the night air of the fire-escape. There Dean released Sam finally and handed him the bag he carried on his shoulder.

“Take this, go to Bobby’s. Take the side streets, don’t let anyone see you,” he said quickly, pushing his brother towards the stairs that descended to the narrow lanes below. Dean took the damp cloth from his brother and turned to go back inside.

“Dean!”

Dean turned back to his brother, whose face was set in an expression of fear and panic.

“Mom’s still in there,” Sam breathed, his eyes glistening with tears.

Dean walked back to Sam and pulled him into a hug, holding the young boy tightly. When he pulled away he grabbed Sam’s shoulders to hold him steady.

“You go to Bobby’s. Don’t let them catch you Sam, don’t stop running until you’re inside Bobby’s place and the door is locked behind you,” he said forcefully, before releasing his brother. The younger Winchester turned and dashed down the fire escape, his shoes clattering on the metal, and Dean turned back to the burning house, where his mother was still trapped.

* * *

Castiel huffed as he dumped the food he’d prepared into the trash, dropping the plates into the sink so they clattered dangerously. If something had come up he’d understand, but it had been all night and Dean had yet to return any of his calls or provide an explanation for his absence.

He pulled his phone from his pocket and checked again (for the hundredth time) to see if Dean had called or messaged him. At the sight of no contact from his boyfriend Castiel gnashed his teeth together, and dialed Dean’s number again.

When it went through to voice mail again he clenched his free hand into a fist, his nails digging into his palm.

“Dean I don’t know why you’re not answering your phone, I don’t know if something’s wrong or if you’re ignoring me,” he paused to take a deep breath. “Just call me please.”

* * *

Dean kicked at his mother’s bedroom door again, his chest heaving with panic and desperation.

“Mom!” he called out, coughing as the smoke blinded him, his damp cloth now dried out. “Mom!”

From the other side of the door he heard her bang on the wood.

“Dean!” his mother’s voice came through from the other side.

“Mom!” he tried again to kick the door open, but his efforts were futile, and so he resorted to banging against the door, trying to force it open. “I’m coming Mom!”

He rammed his shoulder into the door, but the wood wouldn’t give, and as he tried to ram into it again he felt strong arms wrap around his waist and lift him away.

“No!” he struggled against the person’s grip, Mary’s door getting further and further away. “Let me go!”

“Dean!” the person carrying him growled, and Dean angled his head to see his father, who he hadn’t seen in months, carrying him to the back door.

“Dad?” he said softly, though it was lost to the sound of crackling wood.

John carried Dean from the burning building, and dropped him outside, by the stairs where Sam had run from. He knelt by Dean as his son coughed, and held his arm to steady him.

“Mom,” Dean croaked, and John turned to look at the building. He released his son’s arm and began to move to the door, but was stopped when a beam fell from the ceiling and blocked the entrance. John stepped back, raising his arm to protect his face from the blaze.

“Mary!” he shouted into the burning building, unable to get in. “Mary!” he repeated.

Dean got shakily to his feet, and John turned to him.

“Go Dean!” he yelled to his son. “Now!”

Dean turned from the blaze, eyes watering with tears, and ran.

* * *

Castiel arrived at class the next day, annoyed and tired from waiting for a call from Dean. None had come, and he’d gone to sleep only to have a restless night of tossing and turning in bed.

Dean hadn’t called him in the morning, and so Castiel decided to wait until class to confront his boyfriend.

But Dean wasn’t in class. He didn’t arrive late, didn’t show up after class. There was no sign of his boyfriend.

After class Castiel approached the professor.

“Excuse me, sir, but do you know where Dean Winchester is?” he asked tentatively. The man turned and raised an eyebrow to Castiel.

“Shouldn’t you, of all people, know that, Mr. Novak?” he asked. Castiel didn’t flinch; he simply nodded and moved away.

Where had Dean gone?

* * *

Castiel didn’t know where Dean lived; his boyfriend had never invited him there. All their study sessions had taken place at Cas’s apartment.

It took him a week to find Dean’s address.

By that time the mess had been cleaned up, and what had looked like a house that had been burnt to the ground now looked simply like an abandoned home.

To Castiel it seemed as though Dean had just left, with no warning or explanation.

He couldn’t know that on that night John Winchester’s work had caught up with him.

John Winchester was a Pirate, and his mode of operations had been to target specific wealthy businessmen and ruin them by sharing private information regarding their businesses.

It was one such businessman who set the Winchester home on fire. On that night John Winchester was arrested by Heaven for crimes against the system, his children were forced into hiding, and his wife was lost in the burning building.

It was these events that turned Dean Winchester into a Pirate.

It was these events that took Dean Winchester from Castiel Novak.

Fifteen years later and Dean Winchester sees Castiel on his computer screen.

* * *

 


	6. Chapter 6

Dean reels back from the screen, heart thumping at the flood of memories from fifteen years ago. His hand moves instinctively to his mouth, fingers touching his lips as his eyes close. He swears he can feel the ghost of Castiel’s lips on his, and for a moment he’s eighteen again.

But he opens his eyes and sees Castiel on his computer screen, searching for him, searching for _Dean_ , even if he doesn’t know.

Dean zooms into Castiel’s face, and swallows thickly as he takes in the changes. Gone is the nineteen year old with bright blue eyes, warm skin and flushed pink lips and cheeks. Castiel looks tired, his eyes dull and dragged down by dark circles. His skin is sallow, deprived of sunlight, though Dean knows his must be the same; it’s a result of too much time in front of a screen.

“Cas,” Dean breathes to himself as he watches Castiel work.

He’s the same as before, still strategic and structured as he searches. That was why they worked; Castiel gave Dean support, Dean gave Castiel freedom. Time’s only cemented Castiel’s methods, much the same as it’s cemented Dean’s.

Dean gets caught up watching him, watching Castiel work. He divides his screen in two; half on the live feed of Cas, half on Cas’s work.

He’s good, still, but he won’t be able to find Dean. Dean’s too good at staying hidden, and that makes Dean very sad for some unexplainable reason. The thought that Cas is so close, looking for him even, makes his chest ache with a longing he hasn’t felt in a long time.

So Dean makes a decision.

He knows in the back of his mind that it’s a stupid decision, but he makes it anyway.

He decides to let Castiel know that he knows.

* * *

Castiel isn’t a fool. He knows immediately when something doesn’t feel right.

Information on SMITH is scarce, it doesn’t come easily. He’s searched for information on the deep web for days. Even here there’s hardly anything. Discussion by a few people on his exploits, but aside from that…

It’s frustrating.

But worse than frustrating is the feeling Castiel gets in the pit of his stomach when the information stops being hard to find. One moment there’s nothing, and before Castiel can even register what’s happening it’s there; information, history, numbers. Suddenly anything he may need to find SMITH is there.

He can see everything, and it makes him feel sick.

This isn’t right, how can it be so easy? So sudden?

He sits and stares at his screen for a while. This is suspicious, and possibly dangerous. How can it be so easy?

Before he can ruminate on it further something pops up on his screen. A message.

**CATCH ME IF YOU CAN**

Castiel frowns at the message, but types out a response.

_WHO IS THIS?_

He watches the screen for a response, and flinches when a new line of text pops up.

**I’M THE ONE YOU’RE LOOKING FOR**

Castiel’s breathing hitches at the thought, and he types out his response slowly.

_SMITH?_

He waits with heart thumping for a reply.

**BINGO**

He leans back from the screen, his heart rate thumping. He doesn’t know what to say. He’d be suspicious of this, but the fact that this person knows who he’s looking for, knows he’s looking for them now and knows how to message him in such a way that Castiel can tell immediately is invisible, it’s unlike anyone else Castiel has encountered online; it must be him.

He swallows thickly, and then responds.

_WHAT ARE YOU DOING?_

**GIVING YOU THE CHANCE TO FIND ME**

_WHY?_

**WHY NOT**

_IT’S TOO EASY. I’M NOT STUPID_

**I’LL FIGHT YOU FOR IT**

Castiel frowns.

_FIGHT? HOW?_

**THE INFORMATION’S THERE. IF YOU CAN GET IT, YOU WIN. YOU DON’T, I WIN**

Castiel smiles slightly, and starts to type. If this is the game SMITH wants to play, then he’ll play along.

He starts to go in for the information, but finds walls pop up as he tries to access it. So he quickly decodes them and sets up an algorithm to go through and keep taking down the walls he knows SMITH will rebuild. He frowns when he sees SMITH start trying to get through his information, and quickly shuts him down, installing a wall of his own. He knows SMITH is a Pirate, and knows that means he doesn’t work with traditional structures often, and so a traditional structure should keep him busy long enough to let Castiel get to the information.

He’s almost gotten through, to the information, when something flashes across his screen. It’s a crude image, skull and crossbones wearing a pair of glasses like Castiel’s.

“What did you do?” he murmurs to himself, and twists his mouth as he tries to get to the information. His jaw clenches as he realizes; the information’s not there anymore, it’s been relocated, and he leans back from his chair to run a frustrated hand through his hair.

**NICE TRY**

His frown deepens.

_YOU CHEATED_

The image flashes obnoxiously, before a word appears.

**PIRATE**

The messaging disappears, and Castiel’s left with nothing again. In frustration he pushes the pot of pencils from his desk, sending them flying to the floor, and stands up to pace around the room.

In the corner of the room he happens to look up, and his mouth opens slightly. Tiny in the corner is a security camera, and Castiel moves up close to it, squinting at the tiny thing. Before he can think he rips it from the wall and smashes it beneath the heel of his foot.

He doesn’t know who’s been watching him, SMITH, Heaven, but he doesn’t care. He’s done, he’s frustrated and he’s tired. He hasn’t slept properly in days, and enough is enough.

He’s about to leave his office when the sound of his printer begins. Castiel freezes and turns to the printer, and watches as the paper comes out, covered in lines of code. He reads over it quickly, and his mouth opens just slightly. The algorithm he set up to take down SMITH’s walls, it improved itself. It’s worked through the walls and taken the information it can from SMITH and printed it here.

Castiel picks up a red pen from the floor and sits back down at his desk. He pushes the papers out, and starts writing and circling things, drawing lines between numbers and words.

He’s always been good on paper, that’s why he did well at college. He’s always been able to read code like a second language, decode it as he reads. His heart beat speeds up as he reads, decodes, and the information is revealed.

There’s an address, obscure and buried in walls and locks, but here, on paper, he can see it. He can see the address, see that it’s where SMITH’s heist happened, and there’s enough activity after that to make it seem as though SMITH might still be there.

He doesn’t want to risk going online with this, and so he pulls Michael’s card from his desk. He holds it out for a moment, just looking at the contact information, and then swallows thickly.

“Joshua?” he says.

‘ _Yes sir?_ ’

Castiel keeps staring at the card.

“Could you send Michael a request, ask him to meet me tomorrow?”

* * *

Dean lies in bed, staring at the darkness of the ceiling.

No matter how hard he tries he can’t get Castiel out of his head.

He remembers being eighteen years old and falling for his best friend, practically living together in Cas’s apartment, working together on coding. He hadn’t thought of that time in fifteen years. Ever since that night Dean’s life has been hell, living day by day, hiding out in shitty apartments, trying to help people, work towards his goal.

He hadn’t the time to think of Castiel, not until now.

Now he can’t help but think of what happened to Cas, that night, every night after.

He didn’t give him an explanation, there wasn’t time. Thinking about it he realizes that to Cas it must have seemed as though Dean just disappeared, up and left without a word. Left Castiel alone without telling him why.

Dean’s chest aches at the thought.

Today, seeing if Cas could get into his information, it was close to what he’d felt years ago, working with Cas, messing with him. Feelings he didn’t think he’d have ever again course through his veins, and Dean runs a hand over his face to try calm the thump of his heart.

Cas is as rigid as he remembers, unable to bend to get what he wants. It was always his weakness.

Dean almost feels disappointed, knowing that Cas couldn’t find him, but knows that it’s for the best. Cas is safer not being able to find him.

He closes his eyes and tries not to think of those blue, blue eyes.

* * *

 


	7. Chapter 7

Michael nods approvingly.

“This is good,” Michael says. “Very good.”

Castiel doesn’t meet his eyes.

“We’re done, right? That’s it, I got your information,” Castiel says simply.

Michael tilts his head slightly.

“Well…” he trails off.

Castiel looks up to him and narrows his eyes.

“What do you mean? You asked me to find SMITH, I’ve found him for you,” he says quickly. Michael twists his mouth slightly.

“You have a theory on where SMITH may be, you’ll be paid once you deliver SMITH to us, in person,” he says.

Castiel frowns.

“I don’t understand,” he asserts. “What do you want from me?”

Michael sets down the bundle of papers Castiel had given him, and walks slowly to stand behind where Castiel sits. 

“We want you to lead a squad to this location,” he explains, and Castiel blanches.

“Me? Why? I don’t understand,” he stammers out. “I’m not trained, I just know how to find information.”

Michael silences him with a firm hand on his shoulder, his other hand turning Castiel’s head upwards to look at him.

“Castiel,” he says, holding the man’s gaze. “Call it a security measure, we need to be sure you’re not deliberately leading us into danger.”

Castiel frowns.

“I wouldn’t-“

“People will do anything to ensure their safety,” Michael stops him, releasing the hand on Castiel’s jaw and moving to stand in front of him, uncomfortably close.

“Now, Castiel,” he said softly, pale green eyes unfeeling as his gaze moves over Castiel’s face.

Castiel shifts slightly, Michael’s intrusive stare sending a prickle down his spine.

“It’s not that we don’t trust you,” Michael continues. “We just like to be assured that the faith we have in you isn’t misplaced.”

Castiel swallows thickly as Michael’s fingers find his arm.

“Do you understand?” Michael asks, though it’s definitely not a question he needs Castiel to answer. Castiel nods anyway, and Michael smiles. “You’re to come with me, spend the night at Heaven’s Gates. In the morning you will depart with a squad.”

Michael moves to Castiel’s door, and stops at the doorway.

“You _will_ return with SMITH, Castiel,” he says simply. “There will be… consequences if you do not.”

* * *

Dean groans as a tone resounds from his computer, and he winces to open his eyes as sleep tries to hold onto him.

He’s getting a call, and there aren’t many people who know how to contact him directly, and those that do are important, so he forces himself to stumble (naked) from bed to his computer screen.

Through the haze of sleep he reads the name of the caller:

SAM

Dean hesitates, but accepts the call.

“Dean?” his brother’s voice comes through, static and warped.

“Hold up Sammy,” Dean murmurs, and haphazardly types out a sequence on his keyboard, and a moment later Sam’s face appears on screen, the video streaming through now.

“Hey Dean,” Sam greets him, though Dean doesn’t smile.

“I told you not to call Sam, it’s dangerous,” he yawns as he takes a seat in front of the screen. “Is something wrong?”

Sam shakes his head.

“No, no. I was just getting worried, we haven’t heard from you in a while; are you okay?” he asks, and Dean smiles at the concern.

“I’m fine Sammy. How’re things there?” he asks. Sam shrugs slightly.

“Same as ever, people are still starving and freezing, though your last operation helped. A lot.”

Dean smiles to hear that.

“Good, I’m glad,” he nods as he swipes a hand over his face, trying to wake himself up.

A silence follows, where neither brother knows what to say.

“Hey,” Dean begins. “How’s Jess?”

Sam smiles.

“She’s good, still teaching at the elementary school,” Sam answers.

“She likes it there?” Dean asks, and Sam pauses in his answer.

“She likes teaching, and she likes the kids, it’s just tough; there’s not any funding for schools in Lawrence, so the kids don’t have supplies, the school doesn’t have resources. She gets frustrated.”

Dean frowns.

“Do you want me to do something? Get her some points?” Dean asks, but Sam shakes his head.

“No, she wouldn’t like that, wouldn’t want to involve the school. They’re close to being closed down anyway,” Sam explains, and Dean nods.

“How about you Sam? You still studying? You going to be a big lawyer?” he jokes, grinning, and Sam laughs a little.

“Yeah, studying when I’m not getting food out to people,” he answers. “Maybe one day I’ll be able to get dad out of-“

“-You don’t have to worry about that Sam,” Dean cuts his brother off. “Don’t worry about dad, I’m taking care of it,” he insists. Sam frowns.

“Dean,” he begins.

“I said don’t worry about it Sam!” Dean repeats, almost shouting, but not quite.

Sam fixes his brother with a look, through the computer screen.

“Dean are you sure you’re okay? You look tired,” he says, and Dean shakes his head.

“I’m all right Sammy, you don’t have to worry about me,” he insists, but Sam doesn’t look convinced.

“Are you safe? You out of sight, under the radar?” he asks, and Dean nods.

“What you don’t trust me to keep myself hidden Sammy?” he tries to joke, and his Sam smiles, but only a little.

“Shut up, of course I trust you,” Sam answers, and Dean smiles.

“Stay safe Sammy,” he says, and Sam nods.

“You too Dean,” his brother answers, and the video ends, the call over. Dean leans back from the screen, and finally breathes, letting his happy exterior drop. His brother’s too smart for his own good, knows him too well.

He’s tired, worn thin. He’s been at this too long, but he can’t stop. Not yet.

For now he settles for heading back to bed and trying to sleep.

* * *

Castiel feels uncomfortable in this uniform, heavy black carbon bulletproof vest over stiff polymer grey shirt and pants. The boots are a size too small, with heavy rubber soles that give him an extra inch of height.

It’s a cold morning, and Castiel stands behind the squad leader, a gun in his hands. The leader, Gadreel, turns to Castiel and nods.

“That building?” he asks, tilting his head to the rundown apartment across the street. It’s where Castiel traced the IP to, where SMITH’s signal had last come from. Castiel nods to Gadreel, who looks back to the building. He gestures with his left hand, and the rest of the squad around Castiel shifts position.

Castiel licks his lips, his heart rate picking up, and holds the gun up.

Gadreel raises his left hand, and then drops it, and Castiel moves with the squad as they jog silently across the street. The front door of the building is caved in, on the floor, and they step over it carefully.

Castiel had tracked the signal to the eleventh floor, and they take the stairs in a pack.

The eleventh floor opens up to a hallway area, three apartments leading off from it. The squad moves to the first one, but Gadreel stops them, and gestures for silence. The squad stays silent, and Castiel notices why Gadreel’s stopped them after only a few moments.

It’s a soft noise, but one Castiel is familiar with; keys of a keyboard tapping.

It’s coming from the third apartment, and the squad moves silently to the open door. They stop there, and Gadreel turns to Castiel. He gestures for Castiel to take the lead, and Castiel blanches. He shakes his head, but Gadreel doesn’t move. He swallows thickly, looks ahead and moves silently into the apartment, gun held out in front of him.

The apartment is dirty, run down, and stains creep across the cement every way Castiel looks. He follows the sound of the clicking into the centre of the apartment, the squad keeping their distance as they follow behind him.

He stops at a doorway, knowing the sound comes from there, and looks back to Gadreel. Gadreel nods to him, and Castiel turns back to the room. From there Castiel takes a step forward, looking into the room.

His spine prickles to see someone sitting at a screen, back to the doorway. They don’t wear a shirt, their back muscles stiff as they type.

It’s SMITH, it has to be, and Castiel points his gun at the man’s head.

He takes careful steps forward, and SMITH doesn’t notice his presence, until an empty food packet crunches under Castiel’s foot. Castiel stops his movements, and SMITH freezes and stops typing. He starts to turn his head.

“Don’t move,” Castiel orders, trying to hide his panic, and SMITH stops turning, but his ears prick up at the sound of Castiel’s voice, and he keeps turning.

“I said don’t move!” Castiel repeats, but SMITH doesn’t stop until he can see Castiel.

The man’s brow folds in confusion, then surprise, and finally his mouth opens slightly and eyes go wide.

“Cas?” he breathes, and Castiel flinches.

How does SMITH know his name? How can he know his name? It’s not possible.

Castiel squints at the man, the chiseled jaw and cheekbones, freckled skin and green eyes. Something flashes in the back of his mind, a memory, a face, and Castiel feels his heart stop for a moment.

It can’t be, it’s not possible.

Fifteen years, it’s not possible.

“Dean?” he says in a whisper, throat closing up. Before he can say anything else there’s the click of guns engaging, and Castiel is suddenly reminded that there’s an entire squad of soldiers behind him.

Gadreel steps in front of Castiel, gun pointed at Dean’s head, and walks over to where Dean sits so he can press his gun into Dean’s scalp.

“What’s your name?” the soldier asks.

Dean breathes shakily at the feeling of the gun against his skin, but doesn’t answer.

“What’s your name?” Gadreel repeats, twisting the gun.

Dean still doesn’t answer, staring insolently up at Gadreel.

“Blow me,” he says resentfully.

Gadreel grits his teeth together and clicks the gun to turn the safety off.

“I’ll ask you one more time,” he says. “What’s your name?”

“Dean Winchester,” Castiel answers, and both men turn to look at him, Gadreel with an expression of confusion, Dean with one of anger. “His name is Dean Winchester.”

Gadreel raises an eyebrow.

“How do you know?” he asks. Castiel pauses for a moment, trying to work out an answer. He fumbles for the papers in his pocket, and pulls them out.

“It’s in the code,” he stammers out. “I saw it before, thought it wasn’t important,” Gadreel doesn’t look convinced. “It must be his name.”

Castiel knows it’s a terrible lie, but Gadreel doesn’t push the issue. He turns back to Dean and smiles slightly.

“Dean Winchester,” he says the name experimentally. “You’re under arrest for crimes against the system, including but not limited to theft, fraud and extortion. You will be taken back to Heaven’s interrogation and detainment facilities where you will be allowed an interview in which you will be given the opportunity to give up your methods and secrets. If you do not cooperate this information will be taken from you by force. Following this you will spend twenty-five years to life in Heaven’s prison. Do you understand?”

Dean stares resentfully at Gadreel, then glances at Castiel.

“I understand,” he forces out.

Gadreel pulls the man to his feet, and cuffs his hands behind his back. He pushes Dean forward, past Castiel, and as Dean walks past Castiel he meets his eyes for the first time in fifteen years. But then the moment’s gone, and a soldier of Heaven is escorting Dean out the door, away from Castiel.

Castiel can only watch Dean leave, for the second time in his life.

* * *

 

**Author's Note:**

> Please forgive my terrible techno-babble. If you see something that makes you cringe please let me know and I'll try think of something better. I'm really really bad at making up names for future-stuff.


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